Page 25 of He Knows When You're Awake

“Just trying to maintain boundaries.” She lines up her pliers with scientific precision. “You know, since you’ve already cataloged my socks.”

Knox coughs to hide a laugh.

“At least I didn’t upgrade them,” I say, earning a raised eyebrow from Sloane.

“Yet.” She pulls out her favorite set of files, arranging them by size.

Her hands still over her tools. “You’re really leaning into this whole stalker thing, aren’t you?”

“I prefer ‘detailed observer.’”

“And exactly how long have you been ‘observing’ me?” She tries to keep her tone light, but I catch the undercurrent of uncertainty.

“Long enough to know you hide your best sketches in that blue folder under your desk.” I pause, watching her process this. “The one you think no one knows about.”

She freezes for just a second—barely noticeable unless you’re looking for it. Which I am. She recovers quickly, but her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes now. “Should I be worried about what else you’ve noticed?”

“Probably.”

Her fingers trace the edge of her workbench, and I can see her reassessing everything, wondering just how long I’ve been watching, what else I might know. Good. Let her wonder.

“Well,” she says finally, trying to sound casual, “I suppose thereare worse things than having a billionaire who knows my tea preferences.”

“Many worse things.”

The slight tension in her shoulders tells me she caught my meaning. She busies herself with arranging her tools, but I note how her eyes dart to the cameras in the corners, seeing them properly for the first time.

She picks up her sketchbook, angling it away from the nearest camera before catching herself. “So how many of these do you have pointed at me? Should I be waving at regular intervals? Practicing my good side?”

“Depends on the angle.” I enjoy watching her try to act casual while clearly mapping each camera location.

“Let me guess. You have a favorite view already.” She moves a toolbox, then moves it back, aiming for humor but not quite hitting it. “You know, most people just follow their employees on Instagram.”

“You keep your account private.”

She stills at that, and I see the moment she realizes I know this because I’ve tried to access it. A slight flush creeps up her neck, the only crack in her professional veneer. “Less creepy than hidden cameras, though.”

“Nothing’s hidden. They’re all in plain sight.”

“All twelve of them?” She tries to make it sound like a joke, but she’s counting them now, eyes darting from corner to corner.

“Twenty-seven in this room alone.”

She nearly drops her pliers. “You’re kidding.”

“Maybe. I’m going to enjoy watching you try to find them all,” I tease.

“That’s cruel.” She picks up her sketchbook, turning it slightly. “Now I’ll be paranoid about every suspicious light fixture. Every art piece. That plant in the corner looks particularly sneaky.”

“The plant’s innocent. Probably.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Probably?”

“I’d be a poor stalker if I gave away all my secrets.” I move toward the door. “Although...”

“Although what?”

“You missed one.” I nod toward the ceiling. My phone buzzes again. “Upper left corner.”